He moved like vapor through a world of glass and projection.
Towering spires stretched into the morning haze, their surfaces lit by a thousand shifting holograms. Across every facade, flickering highlights from last night's battle rippled in looping spectacle—skybound flames, a blue-winged figure locked in combat, a black-scaled beast howling into the clouds.
Jinhai kept his head low, a dusk-blue and graphite hoodie drawn over his cap. Neon circuitry laced the hood's lower inner rim. The dataweave in his hood flared to life, projecting translucent data panes and animations across his vision. Reflections danced across his sunglasses — towering skyscrapers wrapped in glowing headlines overhead. The same phrases echoed in the hovering display projected from his hood:
"WHO WAS THE WOMAN ON THE DRAGON?"
"DRACONIAN ATTACK AVERTED — DEEPWELL SILENT."
"SCALBOUND RETURN?"
He blended in, mostly. Scuffed jeans. White tennis shoes. An unassuming silhouette. But up close, his clothes told another story—threaded with microtech, subtly armored, faint traces of battle still burned into the fabric. His face was tired. Cut at the jaw. Dry blood clung to his neck.
A familiar voice played through the nearest holoscreen—his own.
"It was a rogue Draconian. Smoke-based physiology. I neutralized the threat underground," the holographic Jinhai said calmly, speaking to a field reporter on the sidewalk.
"And the woman riding the dragon?" she pressed, her brow raised. "Eyewitnesses say she appeared to be Scalebound."
"I don't know who she is," Jinhai answered smoothly. "All I know is she helped. We worked together to take the thing down."
The stream flooded with commentary beneath the interview:
"Scalebound? Those freaks are back?"
"I don't trust him. Deepwell's hiding something."
"That woman was fire, tho 🔥🔥🔥"
"UNEX should've handled it. Not some damn cult agent."
Jinhai blinked. The glow of the overlay dimmed as he tapped the side of his hood, killing the feed. Enough of that.
Above, the sky-lanes buzzed with morning traffic. Winged Solborn glided through transparent lanes, their wings catching the sun like stained glass. Others piloted floating cars, music blaring from open windows. A group of Ecclesia enforcers zipped past overhead, gold-plated drones in tow.
Jinhai turned onto 47th Street.
The buildings here narrowed, but fashion still ruled the walkways. Holographic mannequins strutted above the crowd—part human, part augmented—modeling flame-retardant capes and iridescent streetwear designed for both flight and flair.
A robotic figure stepped out from a UNEX kiosk near the curb. Shaped like a seraph, with gleaming wings of white alloy and a perfect human smile, the recruiter projected a floating banner overhead:
"FIGHT FOR EARTH. JOIN UNEX. EARN YOUR RIGHT TO VOTE."
"Sir," the angelic machine said, matching Jinhai's pace. "Have you considered enlisting? Your wings would make you command-ready. Solborn or not—every citizen must stand for peace and sovereignty."
Jinhai gave it a half glance. "No thanks. I already did my part."
"The offer includes civic perks—fast-track clearance, land rights—"
He waved a hand and kept walking. The recruiter didn't follow.
Ahead, the entrance to the subway shimmered under the sunlight—glass-paneled, rimmed in copper, no escalators in sight. The ground-level platform responded to his presence, elevating him downward without friction. Deepwell's anti-grav tech made gears obsolete. Just electromagnetic silence and supple light.
Solborn didn't use this system. Wings were faster.
But for humans, the maglev train still ran like a pulse beneath the city. When the capsule slid into view—suspended over magnetic rails—Jinhai stepped inside with the others. Office workers. Students. One android in medical scrubs. They didn't know him. He preferred it that way.
He exited at Canal Street.
The world changed again.
Here, the air was thicker — roasted duck, charred pork, sizzling oil. Signs replaced by brushstroke characters and neon glyphs. Storefronts were tight together, cracked from time but alive. Hawkers called out in half a dozen languages. Above, Solborn vendors flitted from building to building, shouting over the street to flying customers in the sky-lanes. Hanging lanterns swayed like drifting satellites.
Jinhai ducked down a side alley—paint peeling, a koi mural curling across the wall in shades of orange and green. The air cooled between the stone walls. Halfway down, a neon sign flickered faintly over a discreet black door.
HAVEN
No numbers. No logo. Just the name, and a retinal scanner.
He stepped through.
Inside: silence.
Real wood beneath his feet. Paper screens filtering warm golden light. A koi pond rippled softly across the center of the lobby, with a bridge stretching over to an open-air garden—immaculately raked, dotted with bonsai. A cherry blossom tree leaned against the far window, its petals fluttering in perfect windless stillness.
The concierge was an older-model android in a yukata. Jinhai didn't speak; just gave a nod. The clerk handed him a keycard wordlessly.
He walked the garden path to his suite.
It was dim when he entered—curtains drawn, the outline of a tatami mat visible underfoot. He stepped inside and reached for the wall switch—
Click.
A warm amber lamp blinked on from the corner.
"Surprise!"
Her voice.
"Happy birthday, Flyboy."
She stood with one hand on her hip, the other balancing a small cake with two lit candles. A party hat tilted awkwardly atop her crimson hair.
Soryn Ayla.
She wore nothing but an oversized T-shirt — faded, downy, and hanging just past her thighs. It was his, technically — a souvenir from the night they snuck off to the Coney Island fair. The logo was cracked and peeling, but the memory was stitched into every thread. Beneath it, just a glimpse of dark underwear and bare legs curled under her. Her human mother of East Asian lineage and her father pure blooded Draconian, gave her an otherworldly appearance. Soryn's frame was graceful—slender, athletic, poised. Flame-red hair tumbled in sleek waves down her back, catching the light like flowing silk. Her face, though touched by something mystical, held the kind of delicate symmetry that could stop a room—soft jawline, petite nose, lips shaped with a painter's restraint. There was an almost familiar quality to her beauty—refined, effortless, the kind that lingered in memory more than it demanded attention. A quiet magnetism clung to her stillness, as if the world adjusted itself around her presence. Near her temples, faint emerald scale markings glinted like brushed metal, hinting at the serpent beneath the skin. And her eyes—green, feline, unreadable—cut through the air with the assurance of someone who never needed to stand out to be seen.
She looked at him with that same sly grin—deadly and dazzling.
He blinked.
"You remembered?"
She smirked. "Of course I did. Someone's gotta ruin your peace and quiet."
Soryn took his hand gently and tugged him toward the knee-length table, her bare feet muted against the tatami. The cake wobbled slightly as she set it down with care. Tiny flames danced atop a crooked "3" and "1" — mismatched candles she'd clearly grabbed last minute. The "3" was half-melted and leaning like it had given up, while the "1" stood too tall and proud, unaware of its sagging partner. Together, they made thirty-one — kind of.
They sank to the floor together, shoulder to shoulder.
"Come on," she said, nudging him with her hip. "Blow out the candles and make a wish, you old man."
He smirked but didn't move at first. The candlelight danced across her face — tender, pale, a little flushed.
Then he closed his eyes.
I wish for a world we don't have to hide in.
I wish for peace. For acceptance. For a future.
The flames vanished in a single breath.
She tilted her head toward him, hair spilling forward over her cheek. "What'd you wish for?"
He opened one eye, grinning lazily. "Now you know if I tell you, it won't come true."
Soryn leans closer to his ear. Her voice dipped into that silken, smoky register she only used when she wanted something — playful, knowing, dangerous in the most beautiful way.
"Then tell me something I want to hear," she whispered.
He swallowed once — then met her gaze.
Jinhai watched the candlelight flicker across her face, cushioning every angle into something even more unreal. She looked back at him, a quiet grin tugging at the corner of her mouth — relaxed, barefoot, wrapped in his old shirt like it still meant something.
And in that moment, he wondered how the hell this was his life.
How someone like her — fireborn, fearless, breathtaking — had found her way into his orbit.
He didn't deserve her. Not really.
He was just a ghost raised by ghosts — a war orphan molded into a weapon. His parents had died screaming during the first wave of the Draconian war, and everything after that had been steel and silence. The only people he could ever call family were his master... and the three soul-linked brothers he'd bled beside in the deepest trenches.
But this?
This woman — this goddess — saw him.
And still chose to stay.
His chest tightened as she leaned her weight casually into his shoulder, resting her chin on his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she belonged there.
"Tell me something I want to hear," she whispered again, her voice lower now — velvet and heat.
He turned to her slowly.
"I love you," he said.
No performance. No hesitation.
Just truth.
She blinked once, almost startled — then smiled. That rare, quiet smile she never let anyone else see.
He reached up gently, brushing her hair back from her cheek. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips, impossibly smooth, faint green scales shimmering near her temple.
He leaned in.
Their lips met.
Delicate. Warm. Lingered.
She tasted like something remembered — sweet, comforting. Like the echo of a dream he used to have as a child, back when he still believed in things like peace.
Lavender and white tea clung to her skin — her scent, always unmistakable, always home.
He deepened the kiss just slightly, pulling her closer, her legs brushing against his.
And for a moment, there was no war. No factions. No bloodlines.
Just the two of them. Hidden. Safe. Real.
Soryn melted into the kiss for a moment — her lips moving with his, her breath catching — until suddenly, she pulled back.
Jinhai blinked, confused. "What is it?"
She gasped, wide-eyed. "The present! I almost forgot!"
He watched as she scrambled across the floor, still barefoot, shirt riding slightly up her thigh as she reached beside the bed. Her hand disappeared beneath the frame and came back with a wrapped package — medium-sized, covered in a uniform, wood-grain-patterned paper. A deep green bow sat neatly on top.
Her favorite color.
She returned to him with that same sly smile, but behind it… something flickered. He felt it — a slight ripple in her aura, like a breath held too long.
Not fear of him — but fear of what was coming.
She placed the gift in his lap.
Jinhai cocked a brow. "What's this?"
"Well," she began, brushing red strands behind her ear. "Last year you gave me your old wrist brace — the one you modded. Best gift ever. So I had to match it."
He tilted his head, suspicious, but began to unwrap the box carefully. The outer layer came away to reveal a smaller case — one meant for jewelry. He looked up at her. She only smiled, cheeks already flushing.
Inside, cushioned in a pale satin interior, lay a single earring.
It was beautiful — dark cerulean blue, like the deepest ocean just before twilight. A short crystal chain hung from its base, no longer than a centimeter, ending in a small blade — a stylized replica of his sword, Icefang.
The blade wasn't just a weapon — it was shaped in the form of the Deepwell cross, the same symbol engraved on his armor's chest plate. The same burden he carried every mission.
He lifted it delicately.
"It's memory alloy," Soryn said warmly. "Like the pendant my father gave me."
He looked closer — the surface shimmered, subtly alive.
"It can store energy," she continued. "Not infinite, but close. Spells, memories, resonance — whatever matters to you."
Jinhai stared at it, moved. "This… this is incredible."
She beamed. "I had it custom forged. It reacts to your wavelength. Try it."
He slid the stem through his left ear, the cold metal clicking gently into place.
She burst out laughing, cheeks still pink. "You look like a total bad boy now."
"Oh? Thought you liked good boys."
"Not tonight."
They laughed — the tension breaking into warm, bubbling ease. He leaned back, grinning.
Then he felt something else in the box.
Jinhai reached down and lifted the second layer — a folded piece of fabric.
It was soft. Tiny. He unfolded it slowly.
It was a baby shirt.
Dark navy blue with little cartoon hovercars stitched across the front.
He stared.
"Soryn…?"
She didn't answer.
He turned toward her, slowly, breath shallow. She sat with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them, eyes flicking between him and the floor.
She was afraid. This was it — this was what he'd sensed. The thing weighing on her since he arrived.
He studied her. Her flushed cheeks. The nervous tension in her hands. The way she wouldn't meet his gaze.
His eyes widened.
"You're pregnant," he said.
She nodded, barely.
It all made sense now, was this the reason she was avoiding me? Jinhai wondered.
"Is..Is this why you ran off after Kyoto? I tried to contact you. I even dove to the Eternal Guardian lair but was denied entry. We were discussing our future and —"
"I—" she started, but her voice cracked. "Jinhai, I didn't know how to tell you. I was scared."
He froze.
Just for a moment.
A breath caught in his throat — eyes wide, heartbeat stuttering.
Then he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, wrapping her in a fierce, protective hug.
"I'm going to be a father?" he whispered.
She looked up, surprised. "You're not… angry?"
"Angry?" He laughed — a real, unguarded laugh. "Soryn, I'm happy. I'm… I'm so happy."
Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. "But you don't understand… I'm the only hybrid child ever born from my clan. My mother died giving birth to me. I've never heard of another pregnancy like this."
He placed a hand on her cheek, thumb gently brushing beneath her eye.
"Then we'll be the second," he said. "And you won't be alone. Whatever happens, I'll be here. If you need me during labor, I'll use my resonance to stabilize everything. No matter what."
She nestled her face against his reassuring hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment of fragile peace.
"You're sure?" she whispered. "He'll be Solborn. Part Draconian. That's enough for the world to hate him."
"Then let them," Jinhai said. "He'll have us. And maybe one day… the world will change."
She exhaled — slow, trembling — and finally let her forehead rest against his.
"You're serious," she whispered.
He smiled.
"You know I've always wanted a big family. All I had was my master and my soullinked brothers. No blood. No roots. Until now."
She closed her eyes.
And in that moment, something ancient and aching passed between them — a vow unspoken, but unbreakable.
They embraced again — slower this time. No hesitation. No barriers. Soryn melted into him fully, arms winding around his back, as if trying to memorize the shape of him with her soul.
She gazed into his eyes, her breath velvety against his cheek.
To her, Jinhai wasn't just a partner. He was the gift the universe had never meant to give. The treasure buried beneath a world that never deserved him.
Those eyes — that radiant, piercing blue — always stared into the deepest corners of her being. Past the fire. Past the bloodline. Past the dragon.
He saw her.
A woman born of war and exile, clinging to love in a world that hated what she was.
And still — he loved her back.
If he asked, she would have left it all behind. The politics, the factions, the war. She would've followed him to some far-off world with no names, no lines, no judgement. Just them.
His strong, supple frame shifted suddenly — and with a laugh, she let herself fall back against the mattress as he playfully pressed her into the pliable cotton sheets.
She grinned, heart racing. "You're getting bold, Flyboy."
He leaned down, breath brushing her neck. "Too bold?"
"Never."
Their lips met again — slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that meant something. The kind that rewrote the pain they both carried.
He smelled like sweat and sea salt — the ocean, always clinging to him like an echo of the sky. She loved that about him. Deep. Constant. Untamed.
She sighed lightly as his hands moved over her, tracing every curve like a man memorizing a scripture written only for him. Her oversized T-shirt slipped from her shoulders, forgotten in the gravity of the moment. His warmth pressed into hers, melting away the distance — and the fear.
Their bodies moved in rhythm, wrapped in heat and reverence.
Outside, the Japanese garden lay serene and silent, petals drifting over still water.
Inside, time unraveled.
And for one night, there was no world to judge them. No history. No war.
Only this:
The beat of two hearts, finally unhidden.
Finally home.
—END CHAPTER 3—